Empty Pages

I scribble on the blank spaces in my novels, much more than I journal

I speak with my books, which I don’t let you borrow

I see empty spaces and I fill them up with silences in words- quiet, peaceful, serene

I can’t bring myself to see any more of the empty than what I see in the mirror

I cover everything I see with words- toys, bric-à-brac, people

I dress up in loud words that save no room for silences

I write your scent in my poems with words that tickle your nose

I write the same metaphors over and over and over and over again just to fill my poems with words, they can’t seem to contain any more

I am screaming at the top of my voice at a party where everyone’s quiet until I am asked to leave

I cover pages better than I do people.

The above image is taken from Unsplash